When Two Hearts Meet (Brightmore #2)

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

She sat with her knees pulled to her chin, the window to her left and gently bumping her shoulder as she moved, restless in the shadows cast by the lamp settled at her toes. Against the glass, orange bursts of light glimmered as if stars caught in the solidness of the translucent material. A small glass of sherry sat beside her on a low table and, of course, Plank curled himself at the other end of the chaise longue, close enough to her to be smelt.

Ori read the first line inscribed boldly against the crumpled and folded page of vellum, her eyes scanning the words as if she had never read them before. They seemed strange, unfamiliar, and she couldn’t recall the reasons with which she had created such sentiments.

One: Although largely unimportant, my husband must be at least somewhat pleasing to the eye.

She placed the pen she held between the fingers of her right hand against the beginning of the sentence and placed a strong, dark stroke through that first requirement. Gnawing her bottom lip, she amended it somewhat on a separate page, using the unsteady cushioning of her knees for support.

One: Although largely unimportant, my husband must be at least somewhat pleasing to the eye.

1.       A husband suited to meshould look remarkably handsome no matter what he wears, his looks and mannerisms unconventional enough to be eye-catching and notary yet not intolerably rakish. He absolutely must resemble Captain Cole Stanley or, better yet, be him.

Miserably, she read through the words again and then perused her next point. This too she crossed out and amended as follows:

Two: He must be agreeable and openly engaging with me and others around him.

2.       He should challenge, titillate, and infuriate me at every opportunity. He should deliberately seek out my company and spark my temper purely because he enjoys rather than abhors an emotional woman. He must partake of these exercises with the similarity of Captain Cole Stanley or, better yet, be him.

Ori set her pen in the ink pot neighbouring her sherry and settled her cheek against her knees, unconsciously smearing ink that had not quite yet dried against her skin. Sensing her unease, Plank licked his chops and made a soft whine. Or perhaps it was a yawn for when she glanced his way he was quite obviously asleep.

In any event, she really ought to retire for the night. There was no point pining for a man who drove her mad with longing. Already these absurd feelings had compelled her to barricade herself in her room for an entire day with no one for company except his blasted dog. Danielle had called once and seemed to believe Ori’s feigned illness, sending a tray of supper up when the time arose.

Cole, however, did not bother her again that day, yet she had longed for his presence. Secretly, she had harboured the delight that he might test his luck again after dinner when she did not appear, but that had been several hours ago and still no knock had sounded at her door.

It was for the best, she supposed. It would do neither of them any good. Perhaps she would insist that Danielle do a better job at chaperoning her for it appeared Ori herself had no self-control and Captain Stanley clearly was not exhibiting any inclination to act accordingly.

One of them needed to be sensible.

It had to be her, though. She couldn’t let herself become hurt and desolate because of another man. Even though Cole appeared to seem fond of her, Oriana couldn’t be sure just how deep his attraction went. And to boot, just where had he gone the previous night? To another woman? God, the mystery alone was likely to render her pathetically miserable.